Rather Good
by cristhekool
Summary: Edmund wasn't always loved in a way he understood, but now he can have no doubts about his status in Narnian and Pevensie hearts alike. Golden Age. I own nothing, of course.


Life hadn't always been like this, this good, this warm. Stubborn, clinging summer surrounded Cair Paravel with unseasonable heat, lending flowery breezes and bright sun where should be autumn foliage and grey skies. The people danced in the streets, heady with celebration, jubilant with wine and song, tilting their heads up and waving to him from far below. He was a dark spot atop cream stone, in the highest tower, long hair loosed from its customary knot and fanning out like a raven's wings.

He was not below, partaking in the delights that had come expressly for his pleasure, but the Narnians would not hold it against him. High King Peter laughed upon his golden throne (while settling border disputes), blue eyes softer than usual. Queen Susan stood in the courtyard and smiled sweetly with wine in hand. Queen Lucy threw wide the gates and embraced them all with open arms, reeking of the harvest and beaming in love.

King Edmund observed from his tower, and though they could not see it, they knew that he smiled. So they bellowed congratulations, and toasted his good name, and cheered wildly when he waved in regal acknowledgment.

Once, nearly a decade ago, Edmund had perceived that Narnia did not trust him completely. His quiet manner, dark, guilty eyes (so different from his siblings), and artless speech had not set him apart as one to be adored. He hadn't been confident, then. At the coronation ball he'd sat nursing a goblet of cider while the others danced, and hoped to one day deserve their fealty.

He'd dreamt of his parents that night, of sloppy cheek-kisses and fond scolding, and wept in grief too deep for words when he awakened to a beautiful but empty sunrise. Now he did not remember his parents. They were a pleasant ache that stayed carefully unattended to by all four siblings, for sanity's sake.

"Long live King Edmund," the public roared as one, and it felt so good, resounding through the palace walls and rocking him to the core. They loved him, now.

He descended the turret, made his way to the royal suites with little interference. Hoping to change into a more comfortable tunic, Edmund slipped into his bedchambers…and found Peter waiting behind a shrubbery. He grabbed Ed in a bear hug and spun him, delighting in the resulting shout of agitation.

"Happy Birthday, brother!"

"Yes, yes," Ed laughed, a bit hysterically, squirming away and escaping into his wardrobe.

"Yes, yes," Peter mocked, eyes blazing with mischief, lips twitching beneath his beard. He was determined to have a good time. Edmund had never celebrated a birthday as King without being entirely humiliated by a side-ripping prank, and Peter had been the instigator of every single one.

"I thought you were taking council," Ed investigated, mostly to stall whatever was coming. He could feel the anticipation in the air.

"I slipped away as soon as possible. I wanted to get to you right away, before wine and gifts dulled your senses."

That sounded distinctively ominous, Edmund decided, and backed up a few steps, but Peter merely smiled and sat on the edge of the bed. After a few moments of staring, trying to size his brother up, Edmund gingerly turned his back and dug through the many tunics hanging neatly within his wardrobe. He decided quickly on dark blue velvet, because it was comfortable and concealed stains. Susan would not be pleased, but he had a feeling that he would be getting dirty tonight. Peter chortled from behind, and the feeling solidified into fact.

"So where will the jest come from this time," Edmund asked casually, stripping off his loose shirt and splashing his torso with water from the pitcher beside the bed. "Am I to expect it sooner, or later on in the evening? Or," he paused for dramatic effect, "are you going to do it now?"

"Actually," Peter murmured after an awkward pause, rubbing his thighs in tired habit, "I was hoping to give you my personal gift privately, as it were."

"Oh." He slipped the tunic over his head and fiddled with the ties. "I would hurry in that case. Susan and Lucy will come looking for us shortly."

"Right." Peter stood and retreated back to the shrubbery, reaching behind it with both hands and lifting a heavy, square object wrapped in yellow parchment. "Here you are then."

Edmund accepted the gift with a wary smile, feeling the weight immediately. "What have you got in here, Peter, a slab of marble?"

"No, but you're rather close." Peter crossed his arms proudly.

"Eh." Edmund sat down at his desk and shook the gift lightly, felt around the edges with his eyes closed, turned it upside down with a little grin. Peter hummed with impatience, foot tapping upon the carpet.

"Come on," he groaned when Edmund began to sniff at the packaging, "We don't have 'all' day, you know."

Edmund obediently reached for his letter opener and cut away the paper, hands shaking with excitement. He already knew what it was. Nothing rattled quite the same way as a chess set.

"Oh, Peter," he whispered reverently once the gift was revealed in all it's extravagant glory, running his long fingers over the burnished wood, the delicate etchings, the gem-studded drawers. He opened them to reveal intricately carved game pieces, each one solid gold.

"Do you like it?"

"I adore it," Edmund affirmed quietly, cradling a rook in his palm. The little faun seemed to shine with a light all it's own, diamond eyes seeming to stare straight into his soul. He was mesmerized.

Unexpectedly, Peter drew him up and engulfed him, not in a playful squeeze, but in a fervent, full-bodied embrace that sent a shivering wave of warmth down Edmund's spine. Edmund felt his brother's heartbeat as a steady rhythm beneath their tunics, heard the exultations in the courtyard, shut his eyes and comprehended love.

"Now then," Peter grunted when he finally pulled back, embarrassed at giving in to something so vulnerable, "We should join the girls. They'll be wondering what kept us."

"Of course." Ed painstakingly placed the rook back in its drawer and closed it in, locked the whole set in his chest, at the foot of the bed. "Shall we, then?"

"After you," Peter said gallantly, and Edmund was too happy to sense the return of friskiness. When he opened the door, he was genuinely shocked to be doused in a cold shower of cheap wine, courtesy of Susan and Lucy, who were nearly falling over from laughter, buckets in hand.

"Well...I…oh…bother!" Ed opened his arms wide and dove at Lucy, tackling her to the ground with a crow of triumph. He decided not to take offense. After all, it wasn't every day that one turned twenty-one. And the wine did taste rather good.


End file.
